Questions That Remain Unanswered
by Sarcastic-Undertones
Summary: Poised and ready to defend. Her body was stiff and alert. Temperance was ready and waiting like a cat sizing up its prey. A cryptic message is discovered. There are questions that need answering. Post the Woman In the Garden.
1. Chapter 1

**A/n:** The Woman in the Garden just aired in the u.k last week and after watching, this came to me. Somehow I think this just asked to be written. Brennan has to know about you know what. So here it is. This is a two parter so I hope you enjoy and just so you know, good or bad I love comments. BTW work on a 'Fixed' sequel is really gearing up so hopefully I'll be posting that fairly shortly.

**Disclaimer:** I think you all know Bones isn't mine 'cos believe me if it was, I wouldn't be sat in my study, in Ireland, with a packet of chewing gum and six euros eighty in my pocket.

**Questions That Remain Unanswered**

The click of the latch was somewhat of a relief. It had been a long day, a long case and an even longer car ride. With her back against the cold wood she listened and waited as the sound of Seeley Booth's feet faded into the distance. The sound of him finally leaving. She closed her eyes thankful to be alone. It wasn't that she disliked Booth's company; it was just that she was tired and tonight she had a need to be alone. His strange behaviour since the funeral was puzzling and left many questions. Questions that remained unanswered.

Booth's agitation had been clear this evening. He had been over protective to the point of smothering. Did he not know she was a grown woman? She had no trouble in taking violent measures in order to protect herself, so what was it with his lecture? No man or F.B.I agent for that matter was in need to come to the rescue should anything happen. A gun perhaps would be helpful but that was an on going ambition of hers she mused, smirking to herself.

Kicking off her shoes, she curled her toes on the softness of her worn carpet. Now was the time to pay a visit to her battered but trusty coffee maker. She threw her keys on the work surface making a clatter for no one's ears but hers, something she relished in. Silence and solitude were something she had grown accustomed to. They had a relaxing effect on her; they were something that provided her with solace and peace after a hard days work.

She should try working on that waiting chapter of hers she thought. If she didn't finish it her publisher would be more than a little annoyed. It was hard to admit but she was suffering a bout of writers block. Well, she sighed that wasn't exactly true. She did have ideas but none she wanted to include in her book. Somehow other people's observations about how her book was based on her everyday life occurrences were starting to ring true. Lately the writer in her wanted nothing more than to include some romantic notions… liaisons even between the lead and Special Agent Andy Lister. Of course she couldn't write that, she wouldn't.

Lister wasn't the right type of man for Reichs. He was her working partner. Anthropologically speaking it was a proven fact that relationships in the workplace never amounted to much, it was based on the concept that work was about dominance, something a working romantic relationship couldn't handle. She traced the marble of the counterwork as she weighed the theory. As a mate he was handsome, loyal, brave and intelligent but… he was also irritating. She paused, her finger coming to a sudden stop. Was she still speaking about Lister or was she once again letting her mind slip to another special agent she worked closely with?

There was a loud click. The machine had apparently completed its task. She made for her coffee mug already anticipating the well-known taste of instant coffee but stopped abruptly upon noting the blinking green light. Apparently it wasn't finished being made yet. In fact there was still another three minutes left. She turned wordlessly; she had heard it hadn't she? Of course, she had heard the sound, her mind wasn't one for playing tricks. It raced with names and images of objects that could have made the sound. She waited; she heard nothing more than her own breath.

It was Booth. He was the one making her uneasy. His speech on the way over, he had been fixated on instructions, advice and orders. She pictured him briefly, tapping the steering wheel listing plans of action as he drove her home. He was obsessed with warning her of the "scum" that liked to prowl, the attacks endured by victims, the twisted ways of attackers, as if she didn't know. The main message she had grasped from the one-sided conversation or _lesson_ was probably the more fitting, was under all circumstances, no matter what, be wary.

It had been something of an amusement and an insult to watch him get worked up on the issue but now as she stood on edge in her own kitchen she felt nothing but frustration towards him and his notions. She was extremely capable of looking after herself, why not now? Since when had Booth's overactive, protective alpha male gene kicked in? This was just another little reason to stack against the grounds that it was a bad idea to be writing romance involving F.B.I agents.

She placed the mug back down shaking her head at her own stupidity. She headed for the refrigerator door hoping some fresh milk was waiting. She hadn't been home in a couple of nights, instead of returning here she had crashed at her office with some Chinese takeout and the hope that she might find some clues in the files from their case. The case which was now closed she noted. Maria and her father had been laid to rest, peacefully with dignity.

_Click. _

That sound again but this time louder. Her eyes darted round the kitchenette, the sound was coming from her bedroom. What could be making the noise? On any normal occasion she wouldn't have thought twice. She'd have either ignored it or marched right in there. Tonight, a different light was being thrown on the situation. Booth's keen interest in the warning to be wary combined with the confession and ultimate reliving of her memories of El Salvador was making this noise more than a mere noise but a signal towards danger. She tried to shrug it off, where was the logic in this? With each day she seemed to becoming more and more like Booth. Standing here on edge she was rapidly realising he was not the only one with a gut instinct.

Scanning her surroundings the glint of her knife rack attracted her eyes like a flash of lightening against the night's sky. She reached for the largest, adrenaline pumping and visions of what was beyond that very door haunting her.

Tentatively she crossed the room, knife and head held high. She wasn't going to let whatever or whoever it was get the better of her, that was if they or it even existed.

_Click_

She gulped, sikeing herself up. Perhaps she wasn't overstepping logic, the noise had been repeated. Poised and ready to defend. Her body was stiff and alert. Temperance was ready and waiting like a cat sizing up its prey. The air was cool and she felt beads of sweat drip lazily down her clammy, slick skin as the air met her body. She inched further careful not to make a sound. The silence was becoming deafening, no longer an attribute to tranquillity, now it was unnerving. Her heart was pounding louder and harder, her eyes trained on the door knob in front of her.

_Click_

Gripping the knife more firmly she stepped further. It was time for action, time to dance with danger. Her knuckles were turning white at the pressure exerted in grasping the weapon. She licked her lips. She wanted to inhale a breath to calm herself, to quench the electricity of anxiety running through her veins. She shut her eyes fleetingly, attempting to reinstate order. No, it wouldn't work. The only way to make it back to normality was to jump. A momentary thought of Booth being unable to refuse her request of a gun when he heard of this event brought about a nervous smile. She'd finally claim that gun of hers. That was if she was able to tell him.

Clasping the metal of the knob with her freehand she swallowed trying to focus. Rotating the handle swiftly she pushed the door in and crashed into the darkened room ready to plummet into the depths of a fight.

Nothing

The room was empty. No vindictive murderer. The moonlight shone casting various sinister shadows yet no physical threat was apparent. She scoffed, what a fool. She felt like she was literally buzzing, the comedown from an energy rush. Breathing heavily it was then that she noticed it.

_Click _

Rushing toward the window she spotted the paper. Her heart beat doubled. The window was ajar clicking with the impact of the lock as the night's breeze pushed it like a child being pushed on a swing. The paper flapped in the wind like the child screaming to go higher. She grabbed the offending paper with haste. Her eyes scanned the note, reading the hurriedly scrawled message.

'_Usted tiene suerte para tenerlo, de otro modo...'_

Her mind chased itself in pursuit of translating and processing the message.

"You're lucky to have him, otherwise…"she repeated, whispering to no one but the empty room.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/n:** Thank you so much for all your kind reviews. I really appreciate them! I hope you enjoy the second and final part and just so you know or in case you forgot,good or bad I love comments. BTW work on a 'Fixed' sequel is really gearing up so hopefully I'll be posting that fairly shortly.

**Disclaimer:** I think you all know Bones isn't mine 'cos believe me if it was, I wouldn't be sat in my study, in Ireland, with a packet of chewing gum and six euros eighty in my pocket.

His eyes fixated upon the café's old green teak shop front as he paced his way up the sidewalk. His sunglasses making the world seem quite rose tinted unlike his mood. It was just after the early morning rush hour, not a usual time to go for a coffee with Bones, not that that happened very regularly he added. Somehow his gut was telling him something was up. This Ortez had put him on high alert; he just hoped Bones wasn't being lax. That familiar pang set in when he remembered she didn't even know about the hit out. How could she be wary when she had no idea? After the recent events he was left on edge.

The street's other pedestrians were milling about carrying out there various tasks however he barely registered them. When he had to swerve to avoid a near collision with an old aged pensioner he was forced to at least partly concentrate on what was in front of him. He couldn't decide if he was apprehensive or pleased. It wasn't every morning she invited him for coffee but then this could be something serious. Something was telling him this wasn't going to be a social call. Something in his gut was uneasy, not a good sign.

What if she was hurt, in danger? What if that bastard…

Pushing the door open with perhaps an excessive exertion of force he scanned the room impatiently. This guy could have lured him here. Made him believe Bones wanted to meet up for coffee. It would've been perfect. He didn't like not knowing what this was all about. Her tone on his cell had been authoritive, as if this was something important. What if she was forced to make that call and she was just trying to be strong? He knew she liked her independence, did that mean she'd place her pride above her life? _No, c'mon, she wasn't stupid._ Though he didn't like to admit it often, Bones was a genius and he could use some of that logic she was always so fond of right about now.

Twenty something clusters discussing their previous night's rendezvous, power suited individuals sipping hurriedly at their decafs and Soccer Moms pausing for a pick me up filled the small but quaint café. What he was searching for was a forensic anthropologist, his forensic anthropologist to be exact. Surely this wasn't the type of place Ortez would try to get him to... He smirked to himself as he took in the bookcases, the old style wooden furniture, the soft, gentle lighting, this place had Temperance written all over it. The very thought of her presence in this place calmed him.

The moment his eyes laid upon her auburn hair he thanked God she was okay. No one could argue with the tried and tested motto of 'seeing is believing.' He withheld a sigh of relief as he watched her sipping a mug of steaming coffee and examining one of this morning's newspapers. The light that had filtered through the wooden blinds behind her shone playfully, illuminating her face and casting an angelic façade about her. He couldn't deny her beauty. Her look of nonchalance led him into a lull of security; he could watch her there like that for hours. That might not be the best option though. He had to know why she brought him here and plus that, it may have come across a tad stalker like, he mused.

As he strides towards her table he can't help being frustrated. Does she have no idea of how she affects him? Of how worked up he's been worrying if she's safe? In that instant right there and then he isn't sure whether to scold her for that relaxed attitude of hers or hug her, just because. The latter would bring about a series of complications, like becoming the instant bearer of a dozen injuries but to have her in his arms he was sure would be worth it. God knows he's thought about it before…

Only when he pulled the free chair from her table did she notice his presence. He removed his coat and placed it on the back of the chair. He cleared his throat, pausing. Now that he was here, now that she was opposite him he couldn't decided on what to say.

"Hi," Bones greeted him.

Right well, that would have been a good starting point_, nice one Seeley,_ he grimaced inwardly.

"Hey Bones," he began sitting down and fiddling with his shirt's cuffs, he didn't make eye contact; he wasn't sure what he'd give away. Bones may not be into the whole Freud thing or a social butterfly but he was pretty sure his emotions weren't exactly in check at the time being.

"Don't," Bones reached for her mug taking a little sip and wincing as she burned her tongue, "call me that."

Banter. _He could do banter, sure he could._

"Oh come on, do you really think I'll ever stop?" he grinned, "Y'know the look on your face is just too priceless, Bones."

He reclined in his seat, relaxing a little into their well-rehearsed routine. Finally he eyed her, waiting for one of her usual defensive responses.

"Yes, well I'd appreciate if you quit using that name as I'm not planning on selling my face."

He smirked; he couldn't help himself, that's his girl, always quick with a comeback.

"Okay whoa, Bones. Since when are you into the whole 'Niptuck' mindset? I thought you made it pretty clear that wasn't your thing," Booth said.

"I don't know what that means."

"C'mon. Don't you ever feel the urge to go on and press the little button on your TV set?"

He imitated, pushing an invisible button in the air.

"I watch TV …sometimes"

Booth snorted. "Yeah, and the Pope is Catholic."

"He is," Brennan stated inching her eyebrow upwards.

"S.A.R.C.A.S.M." Booth spelled.

"Good boy," she leaned in close as if to share a secret, "Now, this is a hard one. Stupidity?" Brennan addressed him like a teacher would a naughty school boy.

"What am I here for?" he asked out of the blue. It was as much of a surprise to him as it was to her. _This wasn't in the script?_

A bout of silence followed. The whole atmosphere changed. With one question it went from relaxed banter to a tangible, uncomfortable tension, and not their usual kind.

She sat back in her chair and replaced her coffee mug. His fingers balled, he followed her every move, his eyes boring into her. They followed as her hand disappeared under the table and resurfaced with her purse. He watched as she unlocked the clap, excruciatingly slowly and removed a zip-lock bag, a piece of paper inside.

"I discovered this last night and-"

"What is it?"

His attention and suspicion was acutely aroused. Since when did Bones produce zip-locked notes?

"A note, I thought you might have something to do with it," she raised an eyebrow.

He eyed her guardedly and reached for the plastic.

Placing it on the table below him and smoothing out the creased paper inside the plastic, his brow furrowed.

It was foreign. Another language and he was certain which. His blood coiled at the thought. It didn't matter what it said, just the person who sent it. He slammed his fist on the table. Many occupants from the nearby tables cast inquisitive eyes towards his outburst. As if he cared. Brennan's gaze darted about the café and settled upon him. Wordlessly he snatched the note and reached behind him for his coat. He was just swivelling off his seat when a hand caught his wrist.

He eyed the offending hand.

"Bones?" he questioned, "my arm," it was an abrupt statement, the pure aggression evident in his voice. Now was not the time for chat it was time for action and he knew exactly what to do.

"You don't even know what it says," she stated grasping at his wrist firmly, yet remaining calm. How did she keep her calm like this?

"It's Spanish, that's enough," he replied through gritted teeth.

"And what motivation is that?"

"Well, y'see, it," he stumbled over his words. What could he say? The truth? Should he admit it? He didn't regret it, he was sure of that. Bones was his partner and he wouldn't let anything or anyone harm her. It was worth it to see her here today, alive. But, he was reluctant to let Bones know about it, ashamed of what she'd think.

"Tell me. Now," she ordered.

"When did this happen?"

"Last night. I thought someone had broken into my apartment but it was just this."

"Just this?" he was angry at her but he tried desperately to withhold a tone of accusation. How could she shrug off a thing like this? Had she no idea how serious it was?

"Well, that was all there was. There's no need to get worked up."

"I'm not worked up," he spoke, convincing no one, not even himself, "Why didn't you call?" his voice was pained.

"I did."

"I mean last night. This guy is dangerous Bones."

"If you mean Ortez, there's no empirical proof it's from him. It could be any number of-"

"Don't you understand?" he demanded, interrupting her.

"I have no problem in understanding, Booth. I believe in innocent until proven guilty. I believe in proof laying in science not your overreactions…"

"Understand this; I know it's from Ortez. It is dangerous," he exploded.

"I've been to dangerous places before. I've had encounters with dangerous people. I've had first hand experience. I know and I understand. There's no need to extrapolate on the matter of dangerous situations. I've dug mass graves in Guatemala; believe me I know what it's like to be put in danger."

She spoke with such passion, conviction. She was such a powerful, independent woman. Tears were brimming in the corners of her eyes as she justified her understanding. There was so much to know about this woman, so much to discover.

"If you are so convinced that is Ortez. Do you have any grounding for your accusations? Tell me what this is about or you'll be the one in danger," she ordered.

"Look, Bones. You should have let me know. You should have told me about this. That way I could've y'know," he paused, images of the things he'd do if he ever laid hands on Ortez again. He swallowed, trying to keep a manner of restraint upon his violent emotions.

He glanced at her, pausing to go on.

"Tell me."

He cleared his throat.

"There was a hit out, on you, and I-" he spoke turning to face her fully. Somehow he couldn't avoid her eyes.

"Wait, are you telling me. You knew about it and you decided to not tell me?" she questioned.

A stern, formidable expression settled on her face.

"Yeah, I guess," he avoided her eyes once more, suddenly very interested in the grain of the woodwork.

"Booth, I deserve to know about things like this and I can handle them," she said, "don't keep things from me."

"I wasn't keeping things from you…" he tried to explain. "I just, took care of it, okay?"

"Okay?" Brennan's voice was strained, "how exactly did you take care of it?"

This was the hard part, admitting it

"I, I roughened him up a bit," his eyes slid to her hand still placed on his wrist.

"How?"

"Do we have to go into this? I just, y'know had a one on one chat with him,"

"A chat? Booth, psychology may not be my thing, but I know not telling me all the facts."

He pursed his lips.

"It obviously wasn't good enough for him. He came back with this," he looked toward the paper with vengeance, blind spots of rage surfacing to the boil, "Next time I won't just threaten to kill him," he said as a whisper. A solemn promise but she picked up on it.

"Booth! You threatened to murder him?"

This was it then…

"He did the same to you…"

"Yes, but… it's different. You're different."

"Maybe… but he wanted to take your life and I wasn't prepared to sit back and let it happen."

"I…," she didn't know what to say.

He sighed, a tired, heavy sigh. Her grip on his wrist grew softer.

"You, were willing to kill for my safety?"

He gulped, a spasm of pain inside, did she not know he'd do anything for her, no matter what. Did she not know he…? No, stop, he told himself, of course she doesn't. Him and Bones, it wasn't like that. She wasn't interested and he…

He brushed his thoughts aside, concentrating on the conversation.

"We're partners," he said it simply, nothing hidden behind it, just a gentle smile.

He watched as her face displayed her conflicted various emotions and then, settled on reciprocating his tender smile.

Her hand slid to his catching it in a gentle grip.

"Thank you, Booth," no longer upset or angry she replied with quiet assurance her eyes conveying so much more.

His thumb brushed hers in response. She smiled lazily, meeting his gaze.

Both lost in that moment. A moment suspended in time, the faintest touch meaning everything. All that was said, all that was left unsaid.

The chirping of his cell alerted her first. Retracting her hand and fumbling with the coffee mug.

He felt cold inside with the loss of her touch. Reaching for the phone he answered.

Temperance watched him silently as he took the call. She pretended to read the arts page but she hadn't heard of half of the performers. The temptation to watch him was far more intriguing. To think she had held his hand mere minutes ago both petrified and delighted her. It was only a brief touch, a small confession of his feelings for her but it had been more of an intimate experience to her than ever.

Flipping the phone closed he rose from his seat.

She questioned him silently with her eyes.

"Ortez, he's been picked up. He got complacent somehow; a squad got him late last night for a hold-up."

"Oh," was all she managed.

"Listen, I'm sorry," he snatched his coat, "I've got to go."

"Don't be."

She was not one for psychology, emotions or subtext but she knew those last lines had been about more than a simple ending of a coffee meeting.

The faintest smile traced his lips as he turned to leave.

Watching his retreating form she breathed quietly, questions had been answered in more than words. She smiled watching him disappear in the crowd outside. If only he knew what the note had meant. If only he had known how true it was…


End file.
